


Interlude

by GoldenDaydreams



Series: Find Someone To Carry You [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Do you tag relationship or platonic when it's lowkey pining because they're both dumb?, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pining, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slice of Life, but lowkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: "We need supplies, and to buy them we need more coin than we have,” Jaskier said, playing to the man’s practical side. “We can’t trust that you won’t be sold out if you take a contract.”AKA- Jaskier is the breadwinner in this relationship.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Find Someone To Carry You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827439
Comments: 25
Kudos: 325
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Interlude

The fire did little despite how close to it the three of them sat. The frigid winds blew the snow their way. It would likely melt, too early for the cold to really settle in, but they heard the warning. They were unprepared. 

Ciri slept between them, leaning on Geralt, dressed in some of Jaskier’s clothes since she’d started outgrowing hers. They were still far too big, but a better fit than Geralt’s which she swam in. Jaskier shivered in his fall cloak, his winter one wrapped around Ciri. Geralt even looked to be struggling with the cold, his cloak mostly opened as he had it wrapped half around himself, but half around his child surprise.

Jaskier cupped his hands, and blew into them a few times before rubbing them together, the friction briefly bringing feeling back into his fingertips. “I know you don’t want to hear it—” he said quietly, not wanting to wake Ciri, his breath freezing in the air, “—but I think I should go into Daevon.”

“Too much of a risk,” Geralt said. 

“For you and Ciri, yes. But a lone bard? I’ll stay away from singing my own songs, keep it to some basic ballads, and a few dirty jigs.” 

Geralt’s brow furrowed, and the firelight made the lines in his face seem deeper. 

“If we’re going to make that push for Kaer Morhen, we need supplies, and to buy them we need more coin than we have,” Jaskier said, playing to the man’s practical side. “We can’t trust that you won’t be sold out if you take a contract.” Jaskier reached out toward the fire, flexing his fingers. “Besides, I’m not being entirely altruistic. My hands are fucking aching, and a nice warm tavern sounds incredible right now.” 

Geralt frowned, bit the tip of one of his gloves which made Jaskier nearly gag, after all, he’d seen the sorts of things that end up on Geralt’s gloves. Once both gloves were on Geralt’s lap, the witcher reached around Ciri, her head lulling against his collarbone, and took Jaskier’s hands in his own. 

The warmth seeped into his skin felt so good he almost cried, and when Geralt massaged his fingers, no man alive could judge him for the noise that left his mouth. It gave Geralt pause, and Jaskier bit his tongue, but Geralt continued, pressing his thumb along Jaskier’s long fingers, warming them, and easing out the stiffness.

With his hands actually feeling warm, Geralt offered his gloves over, but Jaskier waved them off. “You’re going to need them, being out here all night.” 

“Are you sure you can make it on your own in the dark?” 

The concern in Geralt’s voice was subtle, but there. “The moon is full, and we’re not that far away.” Even Jaskier could hear the sounds of the nearby town, large enough that the prospect of making decent coin was high, but the odds of a Nilfgaard presence was low. “I do survive when I’m not around you, you know. I’ll make up a name for the night, Ciri has all my good clothes anyway, no one will suspect I’m connected to either of you. She needs proper clothes and cloak, my stuff is too big and it let’s in the cold. I need gloves. We need to be able to feed ourselves and Roach.” 

“You’re going with or without my blessing, aren’t you?”

“I’d be happier with it,” Jaskier replied. 

Geralt frowned, but nodded. “Be safe, Jask. I won’t be there to get you out of hot water if you decide to sleep with the blacksmith’s daughter.”

“That’s oddly specific,” he replied in jest, warming his hands by the fire, rubbing them together one last time before tucking them back inside his light cloak. “We’ll meet in the morning, you’ll head North, past the settlement, we can meet up—” he tapped his chin as he considered their adventures of years past, “—do you remember that very phallic boulder we camped out by a few years ago? We can meet there.”

Geralt sighed. “I remember.”

“Cock rock,” Jaskier muttered with a huff of laughter. 

“You’re terrible.”

“Oh, it’s funny, you’re just miserable.” He stood, and swung his lute over his back. “I’ll see you two in the morning.” 

Jaskier got a whole three steps from the fire before Geralt called out for him. “Do you have your dagger?” 

Jaskier reached down to pull it out of his right boot, letting it glint in the firelight, evidence that he did have it on his person. 

Geralt gave him a sharp nod. “Try not to need it.”

“Your faith in me is astounding!” Jaskier said, their banter familiar and surprisingly comforting. 

The snow wasn’t deep, and their tracks hadn’t yet been covered by the wind blowing the snow around. He found the road and followed it, easy enough since it was lined with trees, and where the trees stopped, there were tracks of horses, wagons, and men. 

The noise was welcome after nothing but the crackling fire, and howling wind. Jaskier loved the sounds of people, chatter, and wood splitting, the laughter, and clanging of pans. These places were truly alive, and where he belonged. 

He asked a handsome young man for directions to the tavern, and the man had pointed the way. “Bard, huh? Haven’t had one in these parts in ages. Are you any good?” 

Jaskier smiled, and leaned in. “There is one way to find out, isn’t there,” and then spun on his back heel, and walking off toward the tavern. 

The snow packed and crunched under his boots. His toes hurt from how cold they were. That didn’t mean frostbite, right? How would they be able to afford a better pair of boots on top of everything else? Usually his choice of footwear didn’t matter so much. Oxenfurt didn’t have terrible winters, and he didn’t have to walk far when he was there, a lecture hall to a bakery, a theatre to the room the university provided. The mountain pass to Kaer Morhen was no Oxenfurt. 

He pushed open the door to the tavern, and already felt better. There were two roaring fires on either side of the large space, just being inside blocked out the icy wind that had cut at his skin. He walked over to the fire first, warming himself, but most importantly his hands, flexing them to ensure he wouldn’t embarrass himself if he tried to play. 

Upon a quick look around, it looked to be mostly working class folk, no armed soldiers, no traveling nobility. Good. The commoners might not tip as well, but were unlikely to take much notice of him beyond ‘bard.’

He had a single coin in his pocket, and went to the bar, leaning on his elbows waiting until the serving girl sauntered over. “What would you like?”

“To know how such an exquisite beauty ended up in a place like this.”

The young woman’s cheeks turned a soft pink, and she was clearly fighting a smile. “What would you like from the menu.”

He set the coin down. “An ale, and if if you’d be so kind as to permit me, I’d love to play a few songs.”

“Oh yes! Please do! It’s been so long since we’ve had any entertainment here if you don’t count a few bar fights.” 

“I certainly do not, but like you, I’m one for the finer things in life.” 

She looked off to the side, her blush getting darker. A moment later she took his coin, and passed him the ale. “I can’t wait to hear you play, I didn’t get your name.” 

“It’s Tavi.” The name was common enough in these parts, and forgettable—precisely the opposite of the type of name Jaskier would have chosen without the knife dangling over head. “And yours?” 

“Adina.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He flirted with her a bit more, and it earned him a shared bowl of nuts and dried fruits. He picked up his lute when he’d eaten enough to be rid of that hunger ache in his belly. “Do you have any requests?”

Adina considered for a moment. “Oh, I haven’t heard Lady Luck in ages, that’s a fun one, do you know it?” 

It had been a while since he’d played it, but it was tune older than he, and he could play it in his sleep. “For you, of course.” He strummed his lute a few times, ensuring that it was in tune, and to gain the attention of the other’s in the tavern. Usually his bright clothes would do that for him, eyes following wherever he went. 

He sang his heart out, playing the tune, feeling warm enough to finally take off his cloak. He left it over one of the tables with his lute case, and asked if anyone else had requests. 

A classic drinking song had the entire tavern singing along with the simple lyrics: _I’ll drink at dusk/ I’ll drink at dawn/ I’ll drink ‘til sleeping on the lawn/ I’ll drink here/ and I’ll drink there/ I’ll drink damn near anywhere!_

He moved into the bawdy ‘Make Merry,’ delighting everyone with the lyrics that even made some of the men blush. He leaned in close to one of the ladies, lowering his voice for the lines: _Oh, sweetheart, don’t be wary/ I know how to make merry._ He shot her a wink, and danced on, a swing of his hips as he let filth roll of his tongue. 

The crowd had more requests. They clapped, stomped, danced, and sang the night away, dropping coins in his lute case, at his feet, and a few of the braver lasses walked tucked them into the pocket of his trousers. A good crowd he played for well into the night. 

∙∙∙

Geralt kept the fire going all night. Ciri shivered against him, but didn’t complain. At the first light of dawn they started their travel, skirting around the bustling town. There were footsteps in the snow, off the beaten path, surely Jaskier’s. 

He stayed ahead of Roach and Ciri, and he stared at the large… rock sticking out of the ground. He could smell the light scent of lemongrass from Jaskier’s favourite soap. Tracking both the footsteps and the scent, he rounded the boulder only to have a dagger pressed to his ribs. 

“Ah, sorry!” Jaskier lowered his weapon. 

Geralt frowned. “Who did you piss off?” 

“Can’t be too careful when you have a full purse.” He dangled said bag, heavy with coin, and pushed it into Geralt’s hand. “No place safer.” Jaskier’s fingers curled over his, tightening his grip on the purse, and lingering a moment longer than necessary. 

Geralt stared at Jaskier’s bare fingers. “You didn’t buy gloves.”

“Overpriced,” Jaskier replied with a shrug. 

It didn’t make sense, for all the years he’d known Jaskier, the man had been frivolous even when money was tight. 

“I did get this though,” Jaskier shook out the heavy cloak that had been draped over his one arm, and looked up at Ciri on Roach. “This one will fit you much better than mine.”

Geralt helped her down from Roach, and waited for the two of them to switch cloaks, Jaskier’s lighter one rolled up and tucked away in a saddle bag. 

Ciri’s new black cloak was much heavier, and lined well, she burrowed in it. “This is so warm. Thank you!” 

Jaskier tugged his own winter cloak close. “Well, now that that’s all settled, we should be going. Kaer Morhen is still quite the trek. I presume anyway, a fortress in the mountains, I’m sure—” Geralt tuned him out as he helped Ciri up onto Roach. 

Back on the road, Jaskier hummed a tune that was familiar even though Geralt couldn’t quite place it, and Ciri rode Roach a few paces behind them. 

“We’re still going to need more coin,” Jaskier said quietly, obviously not wanting Ciri to overhear. “We’re running out of places to get it.”

“I’ll pick up a few contracts.”

“Is that wise?”

“We don’t have a choice.” Geralt knew that the coin Jaskier had made would help, but it wouldn’t be enough to get them everything they’d need before making the climb to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier needed gloves, and Ciri was growing out of her boots that were quite worn anyway. Geralt needed a new mending kit, and didn’t own a single shirt or sock currently that didn’t have a hole. Then there were food provisions, a few more blankets to help his human companions combat the cold, supplies for Roach. 

Jaskier was quiet a long moment. “We’ll make it. And we’ll keep her safe.” 

Geralt let the words settle in his bones. Jaskier, despite his years living on the path, still managed to be optimistic and hopeful. While Geralt doubted that it would be simple, together, they would make it. 


End file.
